can't stay away (come to me) - part ii
. . .
The next job doesn't start out as a job. It starts out as an invitation for drinks which escalates to a kidnapping and a plane ride. Arthur tells himself he should have expected as much from Natasha Romanoff.
“You couldn't have just asked me?” Arthur mutters, rubbing his head when he first comes to in a small gray room. “I would have said yes, you know.”
“It was for your own safety,” Natasha replies. “Make yourself presentable so you can meet the team.”
“What team?” He asks.
“The Avengers.”
She leaves the room without another word, her retreating footsteps unheard. Arthur thinks he shouldn't be excited at her last words. Arthur should be pissed off but he isn't. How could he be? He's going to meet the Avengers. He can't even try to muster any indignation at the state of his hair because, it's pointless. He's meeting the Avengers. And yes, he’s a little excited.
He spends several minutes in vain as he attempts to smooth his hair back. He consoles himself with the fact that at least Natasha had spared a thought to bring him a new suit, given his current one is in such as sorry state that he suspects his dry cleaner will probably burst into tears at the very sight of it. When he opens the door he is surprised to find a familiar face.
“Phil?” Arthur asks uncertainly.
“Long time no see Arthur.” He smiles.
“I thought you were 'dead'.” Arthur shakes his head with a laugh.
“I was. If you'll follow me, I'll bring you to the others. Then I'll show you where you'll be staying.”
“Staying?” Arthur echoes. “No, Phil. I have a job to do-”
“Mr. Saito has spoken to your client and it's been passed onto Miss Ariadne.” Phil doesn't even bother looking back at him, continuing in his journey down a long hallway of gray doors. “He believes she is the most qualified specialist for the job.”
Arthur opens his mouth to argue but instead sighs and falls into step behind the man. It's been a couple years since he's seen him and although he can blame their respective jobs, he knows some of the blame falls on Arthur himself; he hasn't been home in a while.
“It's been two years.” Phil says suddenly and Arthur has to forcibly remind himself that his brother isn't psychic no matter how close that description might resemble him. “Mike hasn't seen you in three.”
Arthur pauses for a moment. Has it really been that long? He has to try and make an effort to visit one of these days, he tells himself. They head to an elevator which is sleek and screams of advanced technology which can only mean one thing.
“What do you think you're doing bringing your prisoners to my tower?” Tony Stark's voice demands. “Just because you live here does not give you the right to bring potentially dangerous-”
“Now, I resent that. I'm sure I look more than potentially dangerous, I look positively deadly.”
It's Eames, lounging on a white sofa as he amuses himself with the tea set on the coffee table. Standing near him is Natasha. Beside her stands a man whom Arthur recognizes as an old flame of hers-he's wearing a purple shirt and Arthur has to pause at the pattern-and across from her is the famous Tony Stark who stands with his back turned to the doorway.
“For all I know, that can be absolutely true, considering they brought you in alive.” Tony snaps back.
At the other end of the room is a tall blond man with a muscular build standing next to another man who-if it's possible-is taller and more muscular but with longer blond hair. They stand together, watching the scene with either an unreadable (the former) or confused (the latter) expression. By the window stands a smaller man with glasses who eyes everyone warily.
“Of course they brought me back alive,” Eames laughs. “I'm extremely valuable.”
“With that mouth of yours, I'm surprised no one's killed you out of sheer annoyance.” Arthur's comment slips out before he can think better of it but at the sound of his voice Eames looks up and his face splits into a grin.
“Ah, Arthur. Always here to look after my tongue.” He sits up and pats the seat next to him.
“And who are you?” Mr. Stark turns to face him down.
Without so much as glancing at the billionaire Arthur takes the seat next to Eames (“Your hair looks positively dashing in that state by the way.”). He levels a calm look at the agents staring at him. His brother stands by the doorway, arms crossed and a folder in one hand.
“You expect us to train them.” He doesn't bother asking because it's become clear to him that it's the only logical reason for his presence among these superheroes. “Did Mycroft or Saito make it too difficult to get Dom?”
“He isn't an option,” Natasha responds. “He has a family.”
“Doesn't mean he isn't willing to train.” Eames says and Arthur can tell he's rolling his eyes from the scoff that escapes under his breath. “Honestly, did you even bother asking?”
“It was decided he wouldn't be disturbed,” Phil says.
“And why not go through SHIELD?” Arthur asks.
“We don't trust them,” the man in purple says flatly. “I would have preferred Cobb to be honest but you two are the next best thing.”
Eames looks as if he's itching to say something about the 'next best' comment but Arthur shoots him a look. The man smiles and shrugs.
“Fine,” Arthur replies. “Just make sure you don't leave a trail when you transfer the funds.”
Natasha smirks and along with the other agent moves to get out of the way. Behind her on a desk sits the PASIV case. Beside the table there is a large white board. He glances at Eames who grins and stands with him.
Eames moves to sit on the desk while Arthur moves to accept the folder from Phil. He sets it down for later and moves to the board. Eames is reaching backwards to rifle through the drawers when he pulls out a marker. He throws it to Arthur who catches it with ease and turns to face the Avengers.
“What do you know about dreams?”
.
Arthur agrees to drinks with Eames afterward and although he doesn't get as drunk as Eames, he does have a steady buzz going as he follows Eames to a nearby hotel (Tony had extended the hospitality of his tower for another night but Arthur politely declined for the two of them, ignoring the knowing smirk on the billionaire's face).
The hotel only has rooms with single beds which doesn't bother them as much as it bothers the flustered clerk who asks them for proper identification. Eames in his drunken stupor proclaims he shall take the floor but Arthur declines such an offer. After several minutes wasted arguing Arthur manages to coax him onto the bed next to him, stating that the bed is large enough for the two of them and that he's pretty sure Eames will be a complete gentleman.
Of course the shocking part is that Eames is a complete gentleman-and a drunk one at that-who completely knocks out as soon as his head hits the pillow. He even keeps to his side of the bed and doesn't try to hog any of the sheets. Arthur tries not to feel too disappointed when he slips into bed beside Eames who still has most of his clothes still on.
In the morning they extend for another night (Eames is still too hung over so Arthur takes the elevator down to pay for the additional night) and order room service. After they eat they spend an hour video chatting with Ariadne and (surprisingly) Yusuf over the superheroes they've just finished training.
“Banner was the best of them all,” Eames says. “Seriously, I had my money on the super soldier but I guess looks can be deceiving.”
“I can't believe I didn't get a chance to meet them.” Yusuf whines. “Of all the people I would have been willing to train, they'd have been it.”
“We'll have our chance.” Ariadne pats him.
“Doubtful,” Arthur says. “As far as I know, the other superheroes are being trained or protected by mutants in the area.”
“Thanks for shooting down my dream Arthur.” Yusuf mutters. “There has to be someone interested in compounds.”
“You can try Reed Richards?” Arthur suggests.
“I meant someone cool.” Yusuf says looking affronted by the mere name. “I'd even settle for Loki okay? Ariadne,” he turns to her, pouting. “Make it happen.”
Arthur raises a brow at the interaction and beside him Eames is struggling to contain his laughter. Ariadne looks torn between fondness and amusement. She shakes her head helplessly, before suddenly stilling, and reaching for her phone. Ariadne groans and beside her Yusuf does so as well, frowning at his phone. They look up at the screen and Eames isn't hiding his amusement this time.
“Mr. Holmes I presume?” He asks.
“He wants us to get to bed already,” Ariadne complains (“It's barely even eight!” Yusuf wails). “We've got new recruits coming in tomorrow.”
“How lovely,” Yusuf mutters.
“How... does he know you're still awake?” Arthur asks, blinking.
Ariadne and Yusuf share a look before shuddering.
“I don't even want to know,” Ariadne mutters. “But he's right, I guess. I've got to scare them tomorrow. Need to be awake for that.”
“Good luck,” Eames says.
When the screen turns black, the two men look at each other and both break out into grins.
“Care to wager on how long it'll take before they're jumping each other's bones?” Eames asks.
“Now Mr. Eames,” Arthur begins, attempting to school his features into the stern tone he's taken. “What kind of man do you take me for?”
“Would you like to find out?” Eames' voice is quiet now, gaze lowering as his eyes roam over Arthur.
Arthur's breath catches in his throat and he wants to slap himself for it. He wants to glare at Eames and scrub at the flush creeping up onto his cheeks. However he doesn't. It's been years since he's tried to be with anyone. Months since he's had someone. He stands and heads for the bed, Eames quickly scrambling to follow him.
Later in bed, after they've finished off the remnants of their coffee pot Arthur turns to Eames quite seriously and says, “three weeks.”
Eames blinks for a moment before he laughs. “One week. Any longer and Yusuf will begin to resemble a Christmas tree with all his pining.”
. . .
Months pass and Arthur has yet to figure out what to call it. In his head he calls it 'The Affair' and he's pretty sure Eames just calls it 'This Thing' usually accompanied by a wave of his hand. They're never vocal about the... relationship but they don't hide it either. The few times they eat out isn't much different from how they usually act except now Eames will reach over and kiss his hand or his lips.
Things seem to progress. They no longer book separate rooms at hotels and sometimes don't even bother with them when they can easily slip off to their apartments depending on which is closest. If either of them are out of the country doing jobs, they make a point to call or text whenever they have time. E-mails occur less frequently and Arthur logs onto his Skype account almost each night even if it is just to complain about the length of the job or the incompetence he finds in his teammates.
Arthur doesn't say anything about the clothes that make their way to the closet in his New York apartment. Likewise Eames doesn't bat an eyelash when he sees the coffee table Arthur buys for his flat in London. Although they aren't very public about The Affair, it's become apparent that almost everyone knows that they're sharing apartments. Well sort of.
“Eames updated his Facebook relationship status a few weeks ago,” Ariadne explains. “How is it complicated? You two have known each other for years.”
Arthur doesn't exactly choke on his coffee but it's a very near thing. He swallows his burnt tongue a couple times and eyes her warily. She looks annoyed but triumph is clear in her eyes.
“It's really not something I want to discuss,” he mutters. “Anyway, what about you and Yusuf? How long has it been now?”
“Oh shut up.” Ariadne rolls her eyes but she's blushing a little. “Eames told me you lost the bet by the way. Three weeks? Seriously? I'm not blind.”
Arthur sighs. He doesn't want to have this conversation right now. He came to London to do a job. The fact that he met up with Ariadne was purely coincidental and a bit of bad luck. Still, it's a decent front and at least from where they're sitting he can see the man he's been following is still sitting at the booth in the corner, chatting quite happily with the perky blonde in front of him.
Saito had explained that for this particular job secrecy was of great importance. National security and all that. Arthur has a feeling the orders came from Mycroft but he wasn't going to complain. So far his instructions were simply to follow and gain any information on them which would later be passed onto a group of experts in a secret organization he wasn't supposed to know the name of (but he knew was Torchwood because his brother was just as all-knowing as Mycroft).
“So are you going to tell me who you're tailing or am I going to have to figure it out myself?” Ariadne asks.
Arthur's attention snaps back to her. He keeps his face perfectly blank and shrugs. She grins and turns to look behind her, neck straining to look in all directions for the possible targets. He refrains from slapping a palm to his forehead and chooses instead to politely clear his throat.
“Seriously?” He asks when she finally turns back to him. “You work for Mycroft, I'm sure even you know the definition of discretion.”
“Never been my strong suit,” Ariadne replies. “I just want to make sure you haven't got any superheroes this time otherwise Yusuf will kill me for not telling him.”
.
He doesn't expect to actually meet the Doctor. He also doesn't expect to find Eames with him either. It's a little confusing and although the job turns out to be flop for Mycroft, Arthur gains two new acquaintances whom promise to visit or come calling should he ever need help. Somewhere along the way during a chase through back alleys and an abandoned warehouse, looking for a horned alien hellbent on charging at every sizable man who looked capable of a challenge, Arthur wonders how this has become his life.
“He's a smart one Eames,” the Doctor says with a smile. “A little cheeky but definitely a keeper.”
“I'll make sure to keep him around then.” Eames nods. “Till we see each other again Rose.”
“Take care of yourself, yeah?” She's smiling as she gives him a brief hug.
The two retreat into the phone box and Arthur stands back, listening to the engine and feeling a little small. Not that he'll ever admit it but Eames seems to understand and nudges his arm. Arthur glances at him and watches as the man offers his hand.
Arthur has never been one for such displays of affection but that's only because he's never found himself in such a position before. Perhaps when he was younger he held one of his brother's hands but other than that there aren't many memories of his parents nor of other short-lived partners.
He stares at Eames' hand for a moment before tentatively reaching out. Eames smiles at him and Arthur wants to pull away in order to wipe the sweat gathering between their palms but he doesn't. Or maybe Eames doesn't let him because Eames tucks their joined hands into the crook of his elbow before steering him onto the sidewalk.
“I think we can still make it to our seven o'clock reservation if we walk fast enough,” Eames whispers.
Before he can help himself Arthur smiles.
part i | part iii